“That’s not just strong. That’s the kind that fucking kills ya.”
He leans forward on his elbows, voice raw in a way he clearly doesn’t like.
“That’s not a thread, little blackbird. That’s a shackle. No distance’ll break it. You’ll feel each other across time, across fucking worlds.”
He clears his throat, but it doesn’t shake the pain in his voice.
“And when one of you dies?”
His jaw locks, fingers curling against the table’s edge until the particleboard cracks.
“That thread doesn’t break. It vanishes. And it takes a chunk of your fucking soul with it.”
The wrakh’s eyes flick to me, then back to Aurora.
This time, there’s no humor. No teasing.
“I’d be fucking careful with that one. Not ‘cause it’s dangerous. ‘Cause it’ll gut you from the inside out. You won’t even feel the knife until it’s too fucking late.”
The silence that follows is absolute.
Iain doesn’t look away. Aurora doesn’t breathe.
Then, so soft I almost miss it, he whispers, “I know what happens when you lose it.”
A ripple of pure darkness pulses outward from my chest. The shadows at my back thrash, twist, and coil with enough force to burst the nearest lightbulb.
Iain rolls his eyes and gestures toward a tendril sparking at the base of the fixture.
“Can ya tell your little shadow goblins to stop wrecking my fuckin’ house? I just replaced that bloody lightbulb.”
The room dims, my shadows lingering, pressing into every inch of space. They coil around the room’s edges, thrumming with want.
When I try to force them back, they don’t move.
They want me to notice. The little shits are showing off.
Iain clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes again.
“Goddamn shadow monsters,” he mumbles under his breath, like he deals with my kind every day.
I sigh, dragging my hand down my face.
“I wasn’t going to ask, but you know how my shadows work. They obey. They follow my command. They don’t”—I gesture atmy shadows wriggling smugly at my shoulders— “dothis. They don’t have a mind of their own.”
Collectively, the shadows recoil from me like I just suggested tongue-bathing Iain’s moldy sink.
“Nothin’ to worry about. It’s thread magic.” He jerks his chin toward Aurora.
“I wasn’t sure how it would work with something like you and someone like her, but when you make your thread unbreakable, you share magic with each other. In this case, Aurora solidifyin’ her end of the thread gave you those annoying little bastards.”
I stare at my shadows as they curl around her shoulders, basking in their own perceived brilliance.
“If Aurora hasn’t noticed anything yet, it’s coming. Keep an eye on it.”
By all means, let’s add invasive thread magic to the list of things trying to rewrite her from the inside out.
But before I can drown in that thought, something snaps me back.
